The Hollow King, page 18
‘I will help you.’
~You were always a poor student of the arcane even when you were alive. Death has not improved that.~
‘But it has given me power.’
Idyon looked at him. The holes in light that were his eyes met Cado’s gaze.
~And there is the only thing that matters.~ He shook his head. ~I cannot refuse you. So it will be as you command.~ Then he gave a bow, the gesture so stiff that contempt radiated from every part of the movement. ~My king.~
Cado drew the knife across his palm. The blood that welled from the wound was thick. Black as tar. The eyes of the birds were circles in the gloom. Solia’s presence glowed from behind him. Idyon hung in the air. The burnt ashes lay on the ground between them. The dead wizard opened his eyes.
~Call them,~ he said.
Cado squeezed his hand into a fist. A blood drop formed. Whispers hissed from behind him. His fangs were sharp in his mouth, his eyes red. The moment balanced. He clenched his hand. The blood fell.
‘Rise,’ Cado said.
The birds exploded from their perches. Caws and cries split the air. Beating feathers and the voices of Idyon and Solia calling from beyond their graves; calling, demanding, singing as their hands plunged down into the abyss of oblivion. Dark and shadow became light. The marks scratched into the floor were black. Then the heap of ash and hair and bone stirred and began to rise. It made a shape like a person, the kind of shape drawn in soot on cave walls by the light of a fire. Thin lines as limbs. Scratches for hair. The smudge of a head came up last. Cado could hear rasping, the sound of flames trying to breathe, to burn. The figure opened its eyes. They were two holes into an inferno. The birds froze where they flew. Their wings were a dome of feathers.
A weight seemed to fall on him. Leaden, crushing. He fought to stand. His heart was beating thunder. Stolen blood screamed in his ears. Then blackness, and the silent roar of heat washing over him. He could not see.
He was blind.
There was a sound, a shriek, that rose and wound through itself until it was a rope of pain.
Then sudden quiet, and just the aching thrum left as an echo by pain.
‘Speak,’ commanded Cado.
The laughter that answered was low, growling, heavy, inhuman.
‘I called you, and you must answer.’
~Burn,~ came the reply from next to Cado’s ear, in a voice that was not Solia’s or Idyon’s. And he felt fire pouring into him, flesh charring, no more space for a scream, no more time for anything but a single moment of terror.
~This is a risk,~ Solia had said when they had prepared the summoning.
~He knows that,~ Idyon had replied. ~He does not care. Risk, harm, hurt, he can barely know what those things are, let alone feel them. He wants. He wills. He gets. And we obey. I sometimes wonder why you even bother trying.~
~The same reason you cannot forgive.~
Idyon had snorted. ~Solia is right, though. It is a risk, a bad one too. This was the site of an unclean ritual. Whoever this mortal was, they died as part of it. Their soul would have been consumed, mutilated. Whatever was left will be a shadow of their death. Scraps of agony and emotion that are seeping slowly into the earth and air. What you call up will most likely want one thing – to inflict its pain on whatever part of the world it can reach. At that moment that will be you.~ Idyon had shrugged. ~Come to think of it, forget what I said. It’s no risk at all.~
‘Speak. I command you to speak!’ Cado forced the words from his lips.
The laughter of fire was the answer.
‘How did you die? I need to know.’
There were hands on his cheeks. He could feel bone poking through rotten skin. Pain poured into the abyss of his soul. It was strong. So strong.
‘Tell me.’
The hands were gripping tighter on his face, and he knew that a face was moving closer to his, a smile opening to show teeth. Everything gone, all of life and hope. All the futures never lived, cut off. Ashes and burning and pain. And in that, the one question that no one asked the dead or the damned. The one question that no one had asked him in a lifetime.
‘Who were you?’ he asked.
Stillness. A pause. Then the hands were gone from his face. The leaden weight shifted.
~I…~ growled the burnt voice, but it was crumbling to something human ~I was alive…~ it said.
Cado recognised the voice. Shock flooded him.
‘Amaury,’ he said aloud.
~No… I…~ The voice came in starts. ‘I do not know you. I…’
‘I need to know what happened here.’ A wall of force slammed into him. He staggered. The crushing force piled onto him. He felt joints pop. He could feel cords of air wrap around him and constrict. There were few things that could undo him. The hurts of the mortal world were temporary at worst. Blood renewed all. Except that here, in this ritual, he had called a broken spirit up. It existed by his power. Here and now it was as powerful as he was. And it could hurt him. He could dispel the spirit, but then it would vanish and there would be no answers or justice for the dead.
‘Amaury,’ he called. ‘Show me. Please.’
The pressure grew and then released. For an instant there was just stillness, and then something struck him, enveloped him, drowned him and he was gasping backwards through the last moments of Amaury’s life.
Gasping… breathing, somehow still awake despite the pain.
A monster stood in front of her. A monster with a mouth but no eyes, a monster that was holding a knife in one hand. Blood was charring to soot on its edge.
‘There,’ the monster said, and held up what looked like a rag. A small and bloody rag. They pulled it taut with one of the fingers of the hand holding the knife. ‘A good fit.’ There were holes… Holes in the cloth. Eyeholes, and an opening for the monster’s mouth to grin through. Except it was not a cloth. The monster lowered the flayed face and sheathed the knife. ‘You know, what is it you call yourselves – the Mask Breakers? Mortals trying to peel back the lies that hide the truth. But you really don’t understand the nature of masks.’ The monster put a long finger on her chin. The pain of the touch was like a lightning bolt inside her skull. The monster tilted its head as though looking at her, even though there was just skin where its eyes should have been. ‘The point of a mask is that it can be changed. And what can be changed cannot be broken.’
The monster took its finger away and rubbed it against its thumb, as if the smear of blood on it was distasteful. ‘You see, we are not going to destroy you or your, what would you call them – comrades? Friends? Witch hunters? We are going to use them. Starting with you and this wonderful mask you have given me. All I need is a few more details to make it perfect…’
And the monster had put on her face. It spoke a word as it pressed the skin to its skull. Blue-and-cyan fire wreathed its body. Steam billowed from the edges of the flayed face. It stuck and squirmed. Skull and skin re-formed into features. Hair uncoiled from the monster’s scalp. Its shoulders and body pushed into a new shape. It looked up at Amaury and smiled at her with her own smile. Then it raised a burning hand and plunged its fingers into Amaury’s mouth. Heat poured into her throat and down into her chest. She felt the fingers close. She was choking, smoke filling her lungs. The monster yanked its hand back. Amaury felt something in her mind or soul snap. The pain was all-consuming now. She could not breathe, could not make a sound. She was falling away from the world in front of her eyes. The monster held what looked like a tongue and lowered it into its mouth. It swallowed then looked around at her as sight splintered into fire and agony.
‘Well, isn’t this just the perfect fit,’ said the monster with Amaury’s voice. Then there was just the fall and the fire and the roar of death coming to claim her soul.
Cado shook himself as the vision drained from him. Blackness filled his eyes. He could feel the spectre of Amaury around him. She still held him immobile. Anger and hate and fire. He had summoned it up, and now he needed it to let him go.
‘I will give you vengeance,’ he said.
~Ven… geance…~ said a voice like the hiss of flame. The pressure holding him tightened.
‘Yes. You deserve it.’
The pressure built again. He could feel the blind hunger in that. The anger that was now so much of the spirit wanted to pass on its agony. No matter that he was not responsible. He was here, a reality rather than a promise. Then the pressure lessened. The fire on his skin cooled. His eyes cleared in time for him to see the outline of a figure move back from him. He could feel her fading. The rage that held her in the world had gone. In a second, the tides of death would sweep her away. Nothing else was moving. The halo of birds still hung in the air. Their wings stretched in mid-beat. Idyon was similarly motionless. The image of his mouth was open. Only Cado and the shadow moved in this frozen world.
‘Come with us,’ he said, half on impulse. The spectre of Amaury flickered. ‘You can see your revenge.’ The spectre did not reply, but it held still. Then the shadow of its head gave a single nod. Cado reached out and pulled the metal spike from the wall where it had pinned an arm in place. He spoke. The words shimmered in the air, grey and gauze-like. The spectre twisted. Cado felt the power he was calling on pull on the blood in his veins. He kept speaking. The spectre began to fold, one part over another. Cado flicked the metal spike into the air. It tumbled. The collapsing image of Amaury’s spectre soaked into it. It glowed orange and red, hanging before him. Then the heat faded from it, and it fell. Cado caught it. The iron was cold. He felt the spirit stir inside.
~Was that pity or weakness?~ asked Idyon. The shade was opposite Cado. The birds fluttered up to their perches. Cado put the metal spike into a pouch.
‘It was what she was owed.’
~Imprisonment in a lump of iron with only hate and pain and your promise for company… Quite a payment for dying in agony.~
‘A sorcerer took her face,’ said Cado.
~One of the disciples of the Burning Hand,~ said Solia from behind him. ~The person you met in the drinking house was one of them.~
‘No one knows who Amaury is… Not the drinkers in the inn or the militiamen.’
~All memory of her eaten by sorcery,~ Idyon said, then laughed. ~They found you and played you without you even expecting it. Oh, how history does love to repeat itself.~
‘She led me to evidence of the cult in the city…’ said Cado. ‘Why?’
~Why indeed?~ said Solia. ~Added to which was the killing of another one of their number in the fight in the burnt house.~
~No doubt a flourish to remove any doubt about his new ally from our king’s mind,~ said Idyon.
‘But to what end?’ asked Cado.
~Also obvious,~ sneered Idyon. ~To direct your attention. You are looking for them, so they show you that they are here. You want to know where to look and so they point you in the direction they want.~
~He is likely correct,~ added Solia. ~Though his mode of expression is coloured by emotion…~ Idyon made a tsking noise. ~The analysis fits. The disciples prompted your hunt for them.~
Cado felt the cold truth of it settle on him.
‘Every mark and trail I have followed must be treated as suspect.’
~And they were hardly generous with them: a painted door, the existence of a secret hunter cell in the city, and the idea that there is something hidden underground. They set you looking for them in the places where they almost certainly are not and added in the fun of getting you to tangle with another of their enemies. Elegant, it has to be said.~
~The birds knew,~ said Solia. ~In whatever way they understand the living, they knew even if they could not speak it.~
~They led you to the truth, but you could not see it.~
~The question is – do the disciples know where you are now? Do they know that you have found out?~
~So far, they have been one step ahead,~ said Idyon. ~They will have wanted to be close to you, to keep you within reach. They are stealing faces, that means they could be anyone you have come across since you got here. If you are following a trail they set out, then any of the people who just happened to be on that path could have been one of them.~
Cado shook his head. He had heard enough.
‘There is one person who cannot have been false,’ he said. Idyon frowned.
Cado turned and walked away through the ruined house. The birds cawed at him as he passed.
~My prince, that is not wise. Idyon is right. The disciples have led your steps. You should wait, consider options…~
‘This city will be lost before another night passes. They know that. Whatever they are doing, they are running out of time too.’
~My prince…~ began Solia.
‘Thank you for your counsel,’ he said, and felt the two shades fade out of being. The rain and growing storm greeted him on the street. He raised the hood of his cloak, striding quickly.
They were right, Solia and Idyon. He had been led by the nose and diverted into tasks that had taken him away from the true goal. He knew where he needed to go now, and to whom. When lost in a storm of lies, the truth was the only shelter, even if that truth came from an enemy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cado could smell the blood before he reached Agen’s house. Thick iron and copper, still warm from the vein. He felt his thirst rise, bit it back. The front door was locked and barred as it had been before. He moved to the small door at the back. It was open, hanging on its hinges. He drew a dagger and went inside. The smell of blood was a hammer here. His senses lit and sharpened. He could feel a single fading heartbeat, could taste and smell the fresh blood touching the air. A moment to close his eyes. Then he moved, step by slow step, controlled, dagger ready.
Agen had been nailed to his chair. Iron spikes pierced his forearms, knees and torso under the collarbone. Blood leaked from the wounds, but most of it had come from the cut that ran across his gut. A wide pool of gloss red covered the floor around the chair. The fire in the hearth was still burning. Freshly cut logs cracked and spat in the flames. Cado held still, clamping down on the hunger spinning through him. He could feel the points of his teeth, and knew that his eyes would be red. It was as though Agen had never moved from the place where Cado had questioned him, but Cado had set him free and nights had passed since then. Cado had expected to find Agen alive, and to use either sorcery or a simple offer of alliance to find out what the witch hunter knew about Amaury – or rather what had been wearing Amaury’s face. He had not expected to find the man mutilated and dying. Worse, Agen looked like he had been placed in a deliberate echo of his position during Cado’s interrogation. It was a calculated act, as though whoever had opened the witch hunter’s guts were leaving a message – We are ahead of you, it said. Cado considered leaving then, simply turning and going back into the cold embrace of the city.
Then Agen twitched. The wound in the man’s belly opened with the movement. There were coils of gut in that red smile. Very carefully, Cado moved forwards. Agen did not move. Cado stopped a pace from the witch hunter. The blood was a thick pool around his boots. He squatted down so that his eyes were level with the man’s closed lids. He looked at the red pool at his feet, dragged a finger through it and raised it to his lips. The life was already fading from the blood, but it was strong enough to make the darkness within snarl with hunger. Cado bit down on that, focused on the salt taste of life, and spoke.
‘Agen,’ he said. The man did not stir. The flow was slowing from the wounds. The link between blood and life was weakening. Cado would need more. He scooped a palm of blood from the floor and brought it to his mouth. ‘Agen,’ he said, through bloody lips. The blood sorcery in the name was a hammer blow of will. The man flinched and sucked a breath. Cado put more of his will into the next command. ‘Wake,’ he said. The man’s eyes opened. The pupils were pinpricks.
‘What did they want?’ asked Cado. The man’s head lolled, his eyelids already drifting shut. Cado brought his own hand up to his teeth, bit down and forced a bead of blood from the bite. Then he pushed the man’s mouth open and let the single drop fall between his teeth. The man’s head snapped upright. The pupils bloomed wide in the eyes. Flecks of red gleamed in the irises.
‘I…’ said the man, forcing the word out. Just like he had before when he had been fighting Cado’s will. Now he was fighting for his life, its last moments measured in slow heartbeats. The wound in his gut had stopped bleeding, but this was just a pause, a stolen moment balanced between last breaths. Cado’s blood was keeping him here. ‘I… know… you.’ It was Cado’s turn to rock back at the words. ‘They… said you would be coming.’
Cold, cold down his spine. This scene, this exchange of questions had been laid out like the elements of a play or a picture, a picture painted for him. He knew he should flee, but he did not.
‘Who?’ he asked, his own voice a thin growl.
‘The face thieves…’ The man was slurring slightly, as though drunk. He blinked slowly. ‘Bronze masks… knives.’
‘What did they want?’
‘Want? They have everything they want. They have won… or close to won… Out of time… Sand running too fast.’
‘How have they won? What do they want?’
‘You know… You do know. Power… Under the city… They have it now… Should have stopped them… could have stopped them… Too late now… no salvation for me. Or you… not that there ever was.’
‘Why did they do this? What did they want to know?’
‘Nothing. Didn’t even ask any questions. Just cut and talked…’ The man shook his head and his head lolled onto his chest halfway through the movement. ‘Loose ends to cut… spite and suffering to see done.’
Cado gripped the man’s head and held it up. There was delirium dancing in Agen’s eyes now, oncoming death in the breath coming from his teeth.
